


Lassie Hearts Shawn

by Grigiocuore



Category: Psych
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Lassie being a blushing bride, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 13:58:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4265841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grigiocuore/pseuds/Grigiocuore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Imagine person A of your OTP is in hospital for surgery. When they wake up after the operation person B is sitting next to them, holding their hand. Person's heart rate monitor then proceeds to go through the roof as they get incredibly flustered from seeing person B there, causing the nurses to come running.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lassie Hearts Shawn

  
Lassie Hearts Shawn  


  


  
There are stupid decisions that more than stupid are reckless. A cop's mind is made of priorities: you, victims, partners. Evaluate where one starts and  
the other ends, where it could stretch, is a matter of guts; making stupid decisions despite priorities is a matter of luck. Some would ultimately turn  
noble. Some would stay stupid, and some just can't not be made.  


  
When he saw the Minivan running towards their car, Carlton Lassiter knew he could not save all the priorities, and that he would not follow the priorities'  
order.  


  
*  


  
"You should call him." O'Hara said for the third time. Carlton grunted.  


  
"We need to talk about it now?"  


  
"Yep, since you refused to do so for the past week."  


  
He sighed, slowing down Main Street. He looked at the crossroad traffic lights, the sky, the ugly minivan in the other lane, everything but her face.  
"There is nothing to say. He is a rascal, I'm a fool. That's it."  


  
"C'mon, Carlton." She sighed. "You had a fight, so? You do it all the time. "  


  
"This has been different."  


  
"You say it every time."  


  
Carlton tightened his lips. They had argued, badly, as always. Spencer had slammed the door and walked off, as always, and maybe Carlton had kept the porch  
light on since then. Maybe.  


  
"If he reconsider, he knows where I am."  


  
"You sound like my nephews when they fight and give the silence treatment to see who cracks first."  


  
"It's nothing like that." He lied. " O’Hara, we are solitary wolves. We have an habitat, and a way to set feuds. We have a, thing, yes, but with no  
obligations. No pressure."  


  
"I'll stick to my nephews' example, thanks." She slapped his shoulder. Tenderly. "Call him. You both are way happier and way more bearable when together.  
Take a chance. Listen to your heart."  


  
"Listen to your heart?" He snorted. "What kind of cheesy advise is tha-"  


  
It was the sound of brakes that caught his attention. Time slowed a bit, horns screeched. They were at the crossroads, there was no reason to honk.  


  
He saw the minivan when it was less than five feet away. He didn’t even think. Carlton turned, grabbed O’Hara and wrapped her tightly. The van crashed in  
his door. Glass shirked. Metal roared. O'Hara cried. He tasted blood.  


  
He regretted nothing.  


  
*  


  
Call him.  


  
Carlton would like to do so, but the problem was that everything was hurting. It was dark. Smoke, iron burning, someone crying. Blood through teeth, so  
this is how it ends, spilling lungs on a road?  


  
Carlton took a breath. It hurt like Hell.  


  
He cracked an eye open: he glimpsed white walls, distant whistles, chemical. Something pointy pushing in his nose. He let his eyes close again and sighed.  
He’d been a cop long enough to know a hospital. He wasn’t dead. Good. O’Hara’d be glad. With a certain amazement, Carlton realized he too was pretty glad.  


  
Shawn. He let the thought swell up and with the first name too. He wasn't there. Of course. He was in San Francisco, or Disneyland, or wherever Spencer  
specimens go to brood. It was fine. They had seen worse accidents, of course it was fine. Even better actually. Having him there like a cheesy rom-com  
couple would have been so out of place. They were grown men, they had boundaries. That's why they worked. That’s why they kept-  


  
Every well-crafted reasonable crap rolling in Carlton’s mind shattered in bubbles as soon as he looked to his side. Because there, slumped in the plastic  
chair, drooling on an article of Fishing and Hunting sprawled on his bed, was no one but Shawn Spencer himself.  


  
Carlton stopped breathing. He had come. They had fought nasty, said lots of things and still he had come. Waiting for him to wake up. Like a rom-com  
couple. Carlton felt blood rushing to his face, heart stumbling between ribs. A beep squeaked in crescendo somewhere behind him, but there were too many  
gimmicks to choose from.  


  
Spencer-Shawn- should have felt something, because he was stirring on Fishing and Hunting. He blinked sleepily, saw him, and a second after Carlton was  
wrapped tight in a handful of scruffy hair and warm Spencer.  


  
"Lassie."He whispered. "Lassie you’re awake. Fuck, you’re awake."  


  
Spencer’s hair vaguely smelled of Banana conditioner. Carlton breathed deeply.  


  
"Spencer"  


  
"Shut up." He growled. "Christ, Lassie, how, how the fuck you thought." Another growl. "You’re not Superman. I, really, ah, I don’t even know."  


  
"What-"  


  
"Taking in a fucking minivan’s full impact, Lassie."He said slowly. "Jules told me. She wanted to kill you. She still wants to kill you."  


  
"Is she well?"  


  
"Yeah and don't change topic .Christ, Carlton."  


  
Carlton. Spencer brushed his arm. He had sat back but he kept touching him, tenderly, gingerly. The beep was getting annoying.  


  
"Does it hurt?"  


  
"Ah, not much." And it was true. He felt cotton-mouthed and there was a strip of reddish stitches stretching out of his gown, but it could do. He caught  
Shawn watching intently.  


  
"Spencer, what are you doing here?"  


  
"You got me. I have a knack for lurking in random hospital rooms, I can't hide it anymore."  


  
"No, I mean. I thought you. You were. I." He paused. "We fought."  


  
"Lassie, what are you babbling about?"  


  
"We, fought. Last week."  


  
There was a moment of silence. "And what should it mean?" Shawn bursted out. "Lassie, you got half-smashed by a car. When Jules called me, I. Fuck,  
Carlton. Just don’t, don't ever do it again, okay?"  


  
Shawn's voice was shaking and he was ruffling Fishing and Hunting. His eyes looked strangely dark. Carlton talked very slowly.  


  
"Spencer. You were, scared?"  


  
Spencer smiled: a wide, good smile that made him look very young and very happy. Carlton's heart skipped.  


  
"That's stupid even for our standards, Lass."  


  
He leant in. He cupped his chin. The beep had gotten shriller.  


  
And it was then a flock of white-clad people stormed in the room. It jumped on them, screaming all together like angry seagulls. Shawn and Lassiter turned  
with wide eyes, in a good impression of a cat in the headlights.  


  
"What the -"  


  
Someone was lifting Carlton’s gown with no authorization. A long-faced doctor shoved a stethoscope on his chest.  


  
"Sir, do you hear me? How do you feel?"  


  
"It's alright, just keep breathing."  


  
"Coulson, a dose of Corderone, fast."  


  
A spicky intern darted outside with a terrified face. Shawn gasped weakly. A doctor scowled at him.  


  
"What's going on? What did you do?"  


  
"I, greeted my boyfriend?" Shawn gingerly offered.  


  
That didn't seem enough, because the docs kept confabbing and scowling over their heads. The long-faced doctor retired the stethoscope with a pout.  


  
"Mh, this makes no sense. Sir you're not dying aren't you?"  


  
"What -"  


  
"Carlton."  


  
Lassiter followed the voice. For a moment he forgot to be pissed.  


  
"O’Hara."  


  
O’Hara had her left arm in a sling and was standing on the doorway. She dashed forward, elbowed a nurse and crashed against his bed. She looked horrible.  
She was okay. He held her tight.  


  
"Carlton" Her voice was cracking. "Oh God. You're awake. And okay."  


  
"Yes, I. I think.I--O'Hara, what the Hell is going on?-  


  
" I don't know." She sniffed. "They said your heart monitor went crazy. We thought you were having a seizure."  


  
Carlton scowled, then noted some things. A wire coming off his shirt, a monitor with little pulsing pyramids. Carlton’s scowl froze. Oh, no. The beep, the  
damn beep. Oh no. Oh no no no. He prayed to be the only one getting it.  


  
Tragically, he was not.  


  
Spencer turned to him with a lips-splitting grin. "Oh my, Lassie." He said. "Your heart really hearts mine."  


  
"Adkfgjfocjf." Carlton babbled. The jolt in his beep didn't help. "Shut up Spencer."  


  
The doctors looked at them, then at the heart monitor, then back at them. Carlton saw realization slowly dawning on their faces.  


  
A nurse squeaked.  


  
"Aww, that’s so adorable."  


  
"Oh. Oh."The long-faced doctor said. " I had no idea it could actually happen. Altering an ECG by sheer emotional turmoil." He patted Lassiter's shoulder.  
"You gotta be pretty smitten by the young fella, mh detective? But what a comfort to know some people can still love so dearly. This is going to the Sunny  
Stories Board right away!"  


  
Carlton let out a whine. Death would never come too soon.  


  
"Oh, yes, he's such a sweetie. His little Lassie's heart just can't stand my prowess. And I didn't even-"  


  
"Spencer!"  


  
O'Hara had followed the whole exchange in silence, mouth a little O, one hand still frozen on his shoulder. She rubbed away some tear streaks. Arched an  
eyebrow.  


  
"I. I. " She snorted. "Oh, Hell. At least you're okay. And you're going to be a Sunny Story-"  


  
"O'Hara don't."  


  
*  


  
In the end they let them stay way past visiting hours. His wound, thirty stitches and a smashed spleen, though I'll highly suggest you not to run into a  
car again Det. Lassiter, was not a horrible thing, not now that he had woken up on his own. There were checks and way more jokes than checks. The doctors  
left recommending “not to distress their patient too much" and that almost sent Spencer and Juliet rolling on the floor. He felt horrid nicknames falling  
on him like a curse.  


  
"I think Detective Sweetheart is still the best."  


  
"Ah, not sure. Fluttery Lassie got some class ".  


  
"I'll remind you both I've won the Shooting Range Prize for two years consecutively.”  


  
At that Juliet had smiled and offered him a glazed shrimp from the Take Away.  


  
They had no sense of respect. But Carlton discovered he couldn't feel properly angry. All was well. Probably because he was pumped with morphine and drowsy  
as Hell, but all looked perfect. O’Hara was fine and sleeping on the uncomfortable armchair across the room. He was too. And Spencer, Spencer was there.  
Shawn was there.  


  
"Lassie. You really thought I wouldn't come?"  


  
"I. It would have been reasonable."  


  
"You're an idiot." Shawn kissed his neck. "But I admit I'm flattered. I give my Lassie mushy-lovey palpitations. We all knew I was going to give you an  
heart attack, but not like this."  


  
"You're an idiot."  


  
Carlton felt him smiling, and a sudden shuffle in the bed sheets.  


  
"Spencer. Spencer, what are you doing?"  


  
Shawn's hand slipped under the gown's hem. He breathed slowly down his neck.  


  
"I'm distressing you, Lass."  


  
Beep.  


  


  


  


  



End file.
